Page 23

I stared up at my billboard. It was so tall it towered over most of the buildings. The climb to the top was slow. I almost slid off the damp steps more than once. When I finally made it to the platform, I surveyed the city. I could see nearly everything.

Lights glowed on the streets below, and the small shadows of people rushed around, going from point A to point B. When I was done taking in the sights, I glared up at the large close-up of me on my knees in a pair of pink fuzzy shackles, wearing a wicked grin that seemed to dare someone to do their worst. Next to me was a bottle of lubricant. "Starburst Lubricant: You'll be in for a fun ride."

Frustrated, I pounded on the billboard. Of course, my actions did nothing. There was nothing I could tear or rip. I didn't so much as put a scratch on it. I hated the billboard. I hated my life. In a daze, I looked at the ground, tempted to jump. I wouldn't survive, that was for sure. When my body hit the ground, I would be nothing more than a bloody pile of guts and organs.

It would all be over then. I wouldn't have to deal with Hobbs or his clients anymore. I wouldn't be raped. I would be at peace. If that was the case, why couldn't I do it? Why couldn't I climb over the safety barrier and fling myself off?

Sliding down to the metal platform, I allowed the tears to streak down my face. I wanted to make up with Vic. I didn't want him or Alex to think my death was their fault.

God damn, this was all such bullshit! Why couldn't I just do it? What the fuck did I have to live for? Who the fuck cared what Alex or Vic felt once I was gone? I would be at peace. That should be all that mattered.

The steel under my bare skin was freezing, but I had no will to get up. The daytime was often hot in the city, but the nights could become deathly cold. It was a consequence of climate change from the start of the great calamity. My teeth began to chatter, but I still couldn't bring myself to get to my feet.

At some point, I must have fallen asleep because a loud screeching woke me up. The shackle alarm was going off, flashing a bright orange. Groaning, I sat up and let out a string of violent coughs. I felt like crap, and my body was still shaking. Slowly, I made my way down the steps until I was on solid ground. When I let go of the handles, I coughed so violently that I nearly threw up.

Shaking it off, I began staggering towards my building. I was too sick to care about getting caught by the police. As it was, I was right down the street from my building. The moment I crossed the threshold, the door's sensor registered my presence, and the beeping stopped.

Each moment felt disjointed as I staggered to the elevator and into my apartment. I didn't bother getting undressed. I just needed to get into bed and get warm. Cocooning inside my blankets, I huddled into a tiny ball, shaking and coughing violently. My head throbbed, and it was hard to catch my breath.

My door opened, and within a flicker of time that moved too slowly, someone sat beside me. "Where the fuck have you been?"

When I didn't move, a hand gripped my shoulder, forcing me to roll over. Hobbs pressed a hand to my forehead and ran it along my jaw. "You're burning up. What the fuck happened? Where were you?"

What was I going to tell him? That I was raped on my way home and decided I wanted to destroy my billboard? I had to tell him something, but how did I explain how sick I was? Letting out another fit of coughs, I cleared my throat and answered weakly, "Two guys chased me. I don't know why I thought climbing the billboard was a good idea…"

"The… what?!" Hobbs' voice rose in pitch.

I cleared my throat. "They were fast. They kept throwing slurs at me. They wanted to hurt me. Kept calling me 'one ten.'" One ten was a common slur used against men who liked men. It meant two dicks and one hole. It never made sense to me since, technically, all men had a hole. "The only thing I could think to do was climb the billboard. They didn't follow me up there. But they stayed on the ground, and I guess I fell asleep."

"That's it. I'm giving you a bodyguard."

I sat up in a panic. "Trevor, I don't need one—!" My words were cut off by a round of violent coughs.

"Not an escort. I won't make you wear the shackles, but you are famous, Isaac. All celebrities have a bodyguard. They will keep their distance but be close enough to intervene whenever there is trouble."

"Trevor, please!" I begged.

"This discussion is over. You will have a bodyguard." He leaned in, planting his lips gently on my forehead. "I would lose my mind if something happened to you. Now get up. We're going to see the doctor."